


Charadrius Melodus

by BitterHush



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars - State Park AU
Genre: Bike Rides, Biology, Boss/Employee Relationship, Botany, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hikes, Luke and Rey Are Not Related, Luke and Rey are boxes of sunshine with troubled pasts, Luke is 52/Rey is 25, Mentions of Ben Solo being awful, Naturalist academia in general, Nature Guide Rey, Older Man/Younger Woman, Park Manager Luke, Possessive Ben Solo, State Park AU, Talks about species extinction, ex-boyfriend Ben Solo, or at least Rey is trying to make him her ex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-04-23 10:38:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14330667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BitterHush/pseuds/BitterHush
Summary: Rey interviews to be a nature guide at a state park. She only wanted a summer paycheck and the chance to escape a particularly bad relationship, but of course, her future boss is Luke Skywalker: the all-too-understanding, salt-and-pepper-sexy, park manager.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is largely derived from my personal experiences working as a state park nature guide. Unfortunately, my boss was not Mark Hamill... So in this story, I'll attempt to right that wrong for the benefit of our darling girl, Rey. I love both of them to pieces and couldn't imagine better characters to occupy my memories of park life.

Rey has lost all sense of her _"please hire me pitch"_. 

She tries to convince herself to stay seated, determined not to check the time on her home screen again. The words had been ingrained and natural on her tongue, just an hour ago. 

 _Being her_ _e_ _is an escape_ _in of_ _itself_ , she reminds her flexing fingers, forcing her conscience to actually enjoy the chilled, open-window smell of damp pine needles and the brighter notes of springtime undergrowth. 

Yet the longer it takes the state park manager to arrive – _Mr. Skywalker_ _,_ she remembers, trying at the very least to jam that piece of information back into the forefront of her interviewing-mind – the more she begins to forget everything she ever intended to say. 

Her eloquent musings on a dream career in environmental conservation have worried themselves into oblivion – just, _poof –_ like the plan was nothing more than an idea she forgot to write down at 2am. Surely _not_ the words she needs to secure some semblance of a calm, money-making existence this summer. 

 _How long will an American taxi_ _driver_ _wait for a passenger out here, in the middle of_ _this_ _real-life nowhere?_ she wonders again. More pressing still, Rey wonders how much the extra time on the meter will cost her.  

She suppresses the image of her online bank statement, with its three accusing dashes. The overdraft fees feel like micro cuts, though they're the least demeaning of her recent financial wounds.  

A dark, friendly face leans into the office again. 

"Still not here?" Finn inquires, peering around the cramped room she occupies as if his boss might just be hiding behind a stack of boxes. The sincerity of the teenager's concern pulls a smile from her, despite the tightness in her chest.  

"Maybe I should have looked under the desk?" Rey offers, going so far as to duck forward.  

He blows out a puffing laugh, "If you had any idea how often I've actually found him there." 

Her raised brows must seem like a question because he quickly amends, "I mean, not that Mr. Skywalker’s always sleeping on the job or anything. But I think he keeps odd hours? He definitely spends more time at the park than they must pay him for, so hey, if the guy needs to take a nap..." 

She's grinning broadly, deciding she likes Finn. He's warm and unassuming in all the right ways: without preamble or some hidden agenda.  

 _So unlike Ben..._  

"I've always been a napper," She says conspiratorially. "Especially after losing the privilege of taking one in a classroom, after grade one. I almost started a napping club at university, if only to justify my mid-afternoon comas." 

Finn leans the muscled length of his body against the doorframe, his baggy polo and cargo pants accenting his figure somehow, despite all the rips and grass stains. 

"Now that right there – a napping club – that's about the only thing that would get me to switch sides and root for the Spartans.” He laughs. “You go to MSU, right?” 

She's encountered this brand of old-school, athletic rivalry in Michigan citizens before, learning that unlike proper English football rivalries, it is usually a harmless line in the sand: either you "bleed" University of Michigan maze and blue, or you root for the green of her (almost) alma mater, Michigan State University. 

"Please tell me you're simply in denial, Finn? That you already know the truth deep, deep down, and that, if I'm actually hired here this summer, I won't have to spend most of my time informing you of all the ways _our_ roster will prove far superior to U of M's this fall?"  

Finn doubles over, wheezing and clapping, "I don't think I've ever been on the receiving end of such a _classy_ put-down... Even if you are dead wrong!" 

“In my experience, the truth tends to sound fairly classy.” She grins. 

“With that accent, I bet you could make anything sound classy. But seriously, we have to talk football. What do you think–” 

"It's April _nineteenth_ , for Christ's sake!" A man calls from the front reception area, voice growing more animated as he moves through the small building to enter the back hallway. "You, Mr. Finn Kanata, do _not_ get to talk about football until July first, and not a day sooner!" 

Finns straightens with some measure of embarrassment, even though his dimples linger.   

"Don't want to replay some of the bad memories from last season, hey boss?" He asks, "Like that fifty yard bomb we dropped on you, or the six sacks we got in before–" 

"Yeah, yeah, _okay_ , you've got me," the man grumbles loudly, pealing into view to slap Finn on the back.  

He's slightly shorter and significantly older than the teenager but wears age well, as if it's a friend he’s walked beside instead of fought. In his smirking face, Rey recognizes the same kind of suppressed mirth she's seen professors affect, in light of a hilarious comment that completely contradicts their intended lesson.  

His gaze actually _sparkle_ _s_ as it shifts from his young employee to her, sharing the infectious warmth like she is part of their joke. 

She wouldn't have believed it possible, but she likes the man even more quickly than she liked Finn.  

"The surveyor couldn't find a corner stake for a landowner's property line..." He offers weakly, dropping his eyes from hers. 

"No bother," she says, meaning it now, as she glances at a still-grinning Finn.   

"No really, Rey, I'm sorry for making you wait so long, especially with this traitor.” Mr. Skywalker pats the teen's muscled shoulder once more before scooting into the room and pumping her hand overtop his desk. “Still trying to convince the kid to apply elsewhere next year but he's adamant. I'm Luke Skywalker, MSU, class of '89."  

Rey tells herself she isn’t intimidated by the handsome, fifty-some year-old alumnus as he settles down across from her. She tells herself she does  _not_ find the callused hand enveloping her own deliciously warm and broad. 

"Rey Kenobi. Future 2019 MSU graduate, and _classy_ Spartan defender.” 

She watches Finn throw his hands skyward, hearing him guffaw and mumble a string of win-loss records as he walks down the hallway. It's perhaps a bit unprofessional, but teasing the young man feels right, as if she may have secured something precious in the process.  

Securing the job, however, is a whole other matter. 

The nervousness seeps in again, despite the amused and entirely placid look Luke Skywalker is assessing her with.  

He is made for his environs, she decides quickly, his face emulating a piece of weathered driftwood: mostly smooth and lined, yet also sandy and rough where his blond-grey beard gives way to cheek stumble. Eyes the color of shallow lake water seem to glint sunlight, below his fringe of side swept hair. 

"So, you're a long way from home, Rey Kenobi." He inhales, picking through a tipping pile of paperwork. "And I'm trying to remember exactly where that home is..." 

"Dover, England" She offers, "Or, a bit outside Dover, actually. Though I don't believe I put that information on my résumé?" 

"No, you didn't." He finally snatches up a packet which looks far more professional than the cover letter she submitted almost a month ago. "But because of your work visa situation, all of that interesting info gets passed down the food chain. So... let's see here." 

He flips through the crisp pages for a moment, actually licking his thumb, to her chagrin. It's a benign mannerism but also terribly erotic for some reason. She stuffs her hands underneath her thighs to stop fidgeting.  

Somewhere far away, outside in the depths of an evergreen tree stand, she hears the thrum of a woodpecker at work. Rey makes herself focus solely on that hollowing sound and the rattling call that follows it, thinking _pileated woodpecker_ , as Mr. Skywalker examines what must be the bullet points of her chaotic, condensed life in southern England.  

"Why MSU?" He asks, still absorbed in what she is beginning to fear may be a too-extensive account of her time spent in foster care... perhaps even more alarmingly, of the rougher years which followed? 

The tightness in her chest builds. 

"It was outside the UK." 

At this he finally looks up, leaning back in his desk chair. "That bad, huh?" 

"No." She hates that he's looking at her a bit differently now, as if he's managed to fit a particularly jagged puzzle piece into place. "It wasn't bad. Just crowded, and worn-down, and severely... broken." 

"Broken in what way?" 

She’s already losing control of this conversation. She grasps for something clever to steer them back towards more professional waters but fails. His thoughtful gaze is too distracting. Instead, she remembers a thread of the topical speech she rehearsed this morning. 

"Have you ever looked at an endangered species list, Mr. Skywalker?" 

His lips quirk, "Sure. At least once a year. And please, Luke is fine." 

"For Michigan?" She presses.  

"Yes," he considers for a moment, "Though the plover situation inclines me to review all of the Midwest shorelines. So, I’ll usually check a few other states as well. Parts of Canada too. Why?" 

His interest is palpable, making her all the more nervous as she barrels on. 

 _Maybe he has so_ _me_ _type of a naturalist background_ _, to_ _keep up with_ _plover habitation_ _?_  

"The Piping plover is certainly a prime example of a severely threatened avian species, and it really does interests me... but my conservationist heart has always belonged to the Eurasian beaver. I find the species fascinating for a variety of reasons, but honestly, it first intrigued me because of its mass depredation." She takes a breath, "It's another one of my country’s un-proud moments in history, when we nearly wiped them out some five hundred years ago.” 

Rey hopes she doesn't sound ridiculous. Ben always rolled his eyes or called her juvenile, whenever she mentioned how she felt about extinction trends.  

The memory of the far-away man is like a  _virus,_  threatening to swell through the open window. Before it can, she mind-slams the pane of glass, watching the boughs of a shaggy red pine sway as she reclaims some semblance of calm. Mr. Skywalker waits. 

"Of course, there were a multitude of factors which contributed to the beavers' original demise in England and in the larger parts of Europe. But mostly, it boils down to human intervention. Trapping, commercialism, pest-removal. In both the deterioration of the populace and the reintroduction of the animal, humans have proven to be the critical factor... Which is a disheartening conclusion, at least in my mind. I'm sure some of the avian conservationists staffed out here feel the same way.”  

She can feel him assessing her, as another industrious thrum echoes outside, in the humid springtime silence. 

"Have you heard of antinatalism?" He asks finally. 

"Yes, I have... sorry," she exhales, wishing he was less attractive so she could explain her thoughts more clearly. She’s led him astray with the beaver anecdote. It was supposed to be an introduction for her greater conservation interests, not the _explain-my-fucked-up-psyche_ moment she’s turned it into. “That's not what I'm trying to say." 

"Nothing wrong with having a well-articulated opinion..."  

He says it with a chuckle, and she believes he truly wouldn't judge her if she _did_ believe that the human race should attempt to save the planet by abstaining from further reproduction.

"What I mean, by bringing up the beaver example, is that I was feeling phased out myself... As if the system I grew up in – the one that's likely reported all the details of my early life in that packet they sent you – was taking more from me than it was ever giving back. I don’t blame anyone, but I also didn’t want to remain in that cycle when I turned eighteen. America felt like... an escape.” 

Rey lets the tentative explanation float there, realizing how half-formed and incomplete it feels. More importantly, how incredibly personal this conversation has become.  

 _It's a summer_ _job interview, Rey,_ _not a_ _fucking_ _tell-all._  

“A migrant species summering in northern Michigan then?” Mr. Skywalker muses, bobbing back and forth in his chair while tugging on his beard. “But will you prove invasive, in the long run?” 

She’s never considered this biological parallel and finds herself laughing aloud, because how truly invasive is she? She’s already altered the driving patterns of some Michigan fauna, during her early morning bike workouts. Perhaps she should shed her spandex plumage in the future, if she wants to deter unwanted sexual advances from local men? 

“Yeah, you might change things here.” He says, grinning at her like he can actually hear her inappropriate thoughts. “But largely for the better, I think.” 

“Introduced species almost always cause unforeseen consequences in the ecosystem they invade,” she warns, feeling compelled to honesty.  

His patience for her rambling thoughts feels like another gift that deserves respect. He doesn't have to indulge her, or keep her around if he's already decided she wouldn't make a good nature guide.  

“I think the worst you may do, Miss Kenobi, is finally get Finn off my ass about football. I’ve done it for the past two seasons because I'm the only MSU fan around here, but I'm tired of carrying that dutiful torch.” He leans forward on his elbows. “Can you start next month?” 

For a moment she’s wondering what sports Luke Skywalker might actually enjoy watching, but then the words sink in and she balks, “You’re offering me the job?!” 

“Well yeah, I think I just did.” 

She recovers, blinking at his amused expression, realizing she's nearly yelled at her future employer.  

“Sorry, yes, of course! I want it and can start then, but I haven’t told you _anything_ about my experience or my schooling?” 

He taps the papers in front of him, “The letterhead at the top of your transcript, your recommendation, and your stellar grades cover all of that. From what I'm told, it's more important for our next Explorer Guide to have an actual interest in wildlife and the ability to captivate a bunch of sun-burned kids who'd rather be on their iPads.  _Check_ and _check_.”  

He draws x's in the air, then adds with a lowered voice. “Full discloser, I apparently crapped out on last season's hire and picked a guy who spent half of his time collecting edible plants and the other half smoking them. A sixty-year-old hippy with a doctorate in biology does _not_ an environmentalist make.” 

Rey suppresses the urge to giggle, as she watches the bewildered man shake his head.  

"Botany, is admittedly, one of my weaker areas of study. So no worries there." 

"I'm sure you'll do fine." He brightens, like the sun emerging behind a cloud bank. "There's a field guide shelf in the reception area that you're welcome to borrow from, and if that's not enough to help you with the local flora I think the hippy left some books behind in his cabin... Which brings me to the only other question which really matters – are you interested in living out here for the summer? The cabin's half-way furnished, and would be part of your pay of course, though admittedly, it is pretty damn rustic." 

He's rushed through the last part, as if _he_ is suddenly the nervous one. Rey's breath quickens at the thought, at the unlikely implication... 

"Yes, of course! That sounds perfect, actually. I hadn't looked around town for lodging and was kind of dreading it, if this all worked out. No driver's license or car, you see."  

A winding twenty-mile bike ride along the Lake Michigan shoreline would have been a gorgeous daily endeavor, of course, but Rey has already worried about the threat of rainy days and the lack of street lamps. It would be dismal and dangerous, to pedal in darkness.  

So many other problems could, however, be solved by a free place to stay. With the money she saves on rent she could even justify refurbishing her BB8 12 speed. It’s a boon she never expected.  

A darker thought follows, casting a shadow over her hopes.  

"Would I have an address?" 

"Well, no." He apologizes, "You can always get a PO Box at the post office in town though, if you need one, but we only accept business mail out here."  

She beams, lifting her cell phone. "And the cell service, is it always this horrible?"  

"If you manage to get a bar on that thing, then it's a good day. Not that you'd be making many personal calls anyway?” The way he lifts a silver eyebrow is positively didactic, making her spine tingle. "You'll get a walkie when you start up."  

“No, of course, no phone calls.” She assures quickly. “Though, an internet connnection would be nice to have, once in a while. I’m determined to start grad school applications this summer.” 

“Well, you are in a bit of luck there.” Luke rises, unclipping a carabiner of keys from his belt loop. “The rest of this place is pretty much like _L_ _ittle_ _H_ _ouse on the_ _P_ _rairie_ , but I managed to get a company to install a dish in my place and in the front office. It's only cable internet, but you can use either of the computers behind reception, during off-hours of course.” 

“That would be great.” She rises as well, disappointed that it seems he's dismissing her so early, in light of all her unanswered questions. “I’m so excited to work here! Will you email me all of the other job details… or call?” 

“Hold on, first you’ve got to check out the digs.”  

He jangles the keys as he sidles out of the room, beckoning her to follow.  

Rey shoulders her backpack and scrambles after, trying to ignore the blinding giddiness of the situation. So many adventurous potentials are suddenly within reach. 

 _My own_ _private_ _place_ _!_ _In the middle of an_ _old growth forest_ _,_ _with miles of hiking trails and_ _wetland habitat_ _to explore_ _._ _.. and_ _one_ _of the_ _world_ _'_ _s_ _largest freshwater lake_ _s,_ _with shoreline that_ _supports Piping plovers!_  

As far as she’s concerned the cabin he's leading her towards could be four posts with a roof, because amazingly, she’s found both a place to live _and_ a job for the long summer ahead. 

And with the heady warmth of two friendly men in her professional life, perhaps she can begin to unfurl and _breathe_ here. Maybe attend nighttime, unchaperoned social events, or take a weekend hike-and-bike trip simply because she wants to.  

She may even feel heard and seen once again, like she did during the brilliance of her first year studying in America.   

And then, as the stretching daylight of an indigo summer begins to ebb and she has gained memories and a renewed sense of courage, she can prepare for the personal challenges which will surely await her in the fall. Back there, at university... with Ben Solo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The Piping Plover (Charadrius melodus) is indeed classified as an endangered species throughout its breeding grounds in the Great Lakes region. More notes will emerge later, but for now, keep in mind that these tiny birds are much like porgs: pint-sized, delicate, and adorable. 
> 
> *The Euroasian Beaver (Castor fiber) has been reintroduced throughout a few parts of the UK, mainly in Scotland. Populations are still carefully monitored and supplemented, while mating pairs attempt to repopulate protected areas. IMHO, beavers are really the coolest. I'll have Rey explain why later.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been happily surprised by all of the interest for this thing. You guys have convinced me to take it further, so here's round two!
> 
> Just a heads up, I envision future chapters being more like this one - where we hop around at bit (either in time or in POV). Also, the awfulness of Ben Solo is more pronounced in this chapter, so warnings for obsessive, verbally abusive behaviors.
> 
> Thank you for all of the support!

It's not the bare-bones dwelling she had conjured up as a worst case scenario, but the cabin is nowhere near a cozy, picturesque sight either.  

Rey stands beside Mr. Skywalker, as they survey the structure tucked between two soaring pines. It's the last cabin in a curving row of four, with cracked blue paint and an eve that sags over a tiny imitation of a front porch.  

 _Maybe I could fit my bike up there?_ she wonders hopefully, somehow doubting it.  

"That one's mine." Luke gestures towards a green cabin at the opposite end of the sandy campsite. "Dr. Yoda will probably claim the one next to yours again, and the other’s been taken over by local wildlife. It was a pain in the ass getting that skunk family to vacate last summer." 

Rey examines the crumpled roofline of the orange structure he indicates, finding it all too easy to imagine him bating a live trap near the opening of a baseboard – maybe even toeing the cage closer to the dilapidated cabin, for fear of getting sprayed.  

Instead of voicing the betraying comedy, she makes herself ask, "Why does 'Dr. Yoda' sound familiar?"  

"He was one of the lead minds in ornithology, about sixty years ago." Mr. Skywalker picks up a pine branch and shakes wet sand from its broom-like end. "And he’s co-authored a few books since then. You've probably cited him, if you’ve ever written anything about Amazonian water birds."  

Rey does the math, unable to align the man's inferred age with any elderly person’s desire (or ability) to actually live _here_ for some length of time... without the immediate civilized amenities of running water and handicap access.  

"Does he stay here all summer, or just during the mating season?"  

Mr. Skywalker has started poking around her blue cabin, using the stick to swipe cobwebs from between the porch rungs.  

"Depends on the other plover reports in the area. Or, more accurately, on Yoda’s _intuition_ about the other nesting reports.” He says wryly.” It's difficult to tell the two sources apart, so don't take anything he says about this year's migratory patterns too seriously. " 

He mounts the porch and Rey squeezes the straps of her backpack. She half-hopes to see her ridiculous skunk fantasy come to fruition, as her employer jiggles a padlock loose and shoulders into the cabin.  

When he remerges a few moments later nothing seems to have attacked him. "All clear," he says sagely, perhaps misinterpreting her distance for fear. 

 _If you only knew how truly unafraid a woman can be of rodents,_ she muses.  

She slides up the stairs and past him, trying her hardest to remain casual as her knuckles graze his left thigh.  

When she steps into the room she’s quickly assaulted by the mingling smells of mildew, wood smoke, hemp and something chemical. The last of which is the least offensive of all the cloying odors and seems to emanate from a pair of laminated mattress pads on the bunk bed. A squat, little stove occupies the corner furthest from the door, while a chair and pack-away table line the opposite wall. 

All-in-all, she could comfortably workout, read, tune her bike, and put together nature presentations in here, if she wanted to. 

"Well," Mr. Skywalker prompts with the slightest tinge of unease. She senses him standing in the doorway behind her. "Is it a deal-breaker? Because we can always work on finding you a place in town instead..." 

She turns back to him, smiling broadly. "When can I move in?” 

* * *

The bus ride back to Lansing seems to take much longer than the ride upstate. Without any landmarks to see, night has slowed the passage of time. But Rey’s okay with that. Her city apartment can wait, while she watches the roadway blur by. She dreams about brilliant lakeside sunsets and an existence without cellular communication. 

It is still hard to believe that she has somehow babbled her way into the perfect, far-away job – with a potential friend in the waiting and a boss who she finds refreshingly kind and funny and captivating. Every past employer now seems like a glaring disappointment, when she compares their shoddy humanity to Mr. Skywalker's. 

 _I won't call him Luke,_ she has decided _._ Even though she wants to. First name basis’ have only ever gotten her into trouble. 

When she finally turns the lock to the off-campus apartment she shares with Rose, Rey has come to accept the realization that Ben may truly, _blessedly_ , be unable to reach her in the seclusion of a tiny, up north cabin. 

The peaceful, late-night ignorance only lasts for a moment, however.  

In the next, she notices several pink sticky notes on the countertop, all carefully dated and penned with warnings like, “ _If_ _she_ _doesn’t_ _call back I’m going to break through_ _her_ _fucking_ _bedroom window while_ _she_ _sleeps_ _.”_  

Rey can’t suppress how her hand quakes, as she reads the note from a distance. Because that’s a new one. 

 _Oh God, Rose, I’m so sorry_. She blinks back the blurring, shameful tears.  

Her wonderful, _sweet_ , completely undeserving roommate spent the weekend recording Ben’s filth – if only to help her compile more evidence for the restraining order she plans to file tomorrow. 

 _I’m the worst fucking friend imaginable_ _._ She sobs on the thought. 

After double-checking that both the deadbolt and the slider lock are in place, she sits down at the kitchen table. There’s a frigid, hollowed out feel to her stomach now, as if she’s experienced the slithering, cold-blooded departure of a reptile from her womb. 

Tears no longer track down her cheeks, when she finally releases her grip on the stun gun, setting it prongs-up beside her laptop.  

She starts typing the pink stack of warnings into an existing word document, forcing herself to not comprehend the content of Ben’s phone messages. 

* * *

“It’s really okay, Rey, _honestly_. I’m so beyond happy for you, there’s just no room for worry.”  

Rose repeats the sentiment over a mug of tea, while Rey pours herself another cup of coffee. It’s already getting late. She should head for the bus soon. 

 _How can I_ _actually_ _leave_ _though_ , Rey thinks for the hundredth time, torn by the aching desire to be both here and also several hundred miles away. She would rather take part in the abysmal field work Professor Ackbar has tried to push on her (counting and then euthanizing invasive gobies) before she would willingly face today. 

Because leaving is _still_ a decision, no matter how often Rose has tried to convince her that it isn’t. 

Her move-out date has hovered between them, during the last two weeks of packing, court house visits, and academic advisor check-ins. 

“You _have_ to go.” Rose urges with a smile that would almost be excited, if not for the concern in her dark eyes. “It’s the situation you need right now. And I’ve convinced DJ to stay here until you come back in September. So go! Be free. Get a tan and a new man.” 

Rey almost wishes her friend wasn’t so kind and understanding. It makes the guilt taste all the more bitter.

Rose is the one who has dealt with the phone carrier when Rey needed to change her cell number. Rose is the one who has asked their landlord to install flood lights and a newer deadbolt on the back door. Rose is the one who has shown up at trial, offering more cross-court comfort than anyone else in the world could possibly manage, when Rey was finally called up to testify.  

And now it is _Rose_ who has decided – without complaint or hesitation – to shoulder the questioning, burdensome intensity of Ben Solo in Rey's absence. 

“I still don’t feel right about leaving you alone. Boyfriend or not, I’m afraid for you.” She whispers, watching milk spiral into her coffee.  

“Hey, you know how boring my life is outside of lab. It’ll be fun to call the cops if the asshole decides to break his shiny new court order and come knocking.” 

Rose taps the side of her drink as Rey worries aloud, 

“I don't think I'll be able to forgive myself, if it comes to that...” 

“Well, what if you knew that I’d be taking pictures the whole time? Like, face-squished-up-against-the-hood-of-a-police-car pictures? We could post them around the chem department when you get back.” 

Rey can’t bring herself to laugh along with her friend. The tempting prospect of degrading Professor Ben Solo is a chilling fantasy she cannot truly entertain. The university would certainly fire him, and the faculty in his department would probably be appalled and abandon him, but after that outcome the other consequences would prove too great.  

Her academic career would be ruined before it even began, all because she would be seen as the student who entered into a relationship with her teacher – regardless of the fact that Ben became an obsessive and verbally abusive partner along the way.  

"Hey," Rose reaches across their kitchen table, covering Rey's hand and squeezing. "Everything is going to be fine here, and you're going to have an amazing summer. As long as you keep emailing when you can, there are no worries on my end, okay?" 

Rey takes a deep breath and nods, wishing she wasn't so weak right now. She can only promise she'll be a better, stronger friend when she returns in the fall.  

"Alright then." Rose stands up, pocketing her phone. "Then let's get you to the bus station before you change your mind." 

* * *

The immensity of Lake Michigan is close.  

Beyond a few cresting dunes, waves break and murmur against rocks, sounding hollowed out in the giant sand bowl he occupies. Somehow, the inky darkness seems to amplify the fractured ebb and flow of water.  

 _Sensory depravation_ , Luke Skywalker muses, tipping his head back to stare at a black canvas of stars. Considering he's resided here for close to a decade, in an area completely devoid of light pollution, he should probably know more than a handful of constellations. It's the perfect venue for stargazing.  

But connecting dots in the night sky was always Mara's thing. She had studied astronomy and mythology for the both of them, reciting the Greek names and stories with such endearing awe he always found himself following her out into the night.  

"Getting lost on the way back to your cabin, are you?" A voice cackles from far behind him, sounding more amused than any nonagenarian should sound, after a day of hiking with a pack of energetic interns.  

Admittedly, Luke's never met another ninety-four-year-old who still walks around, much less hikes, so maybe he's not giving the stooped man enough credit? By and large, Dr. Yoda remains a strange, persistent enigma in all respects, reappearing during every spring thaw and then migrating south come fall. Without word or warning, he just arrives one day.  

"Can't a man just admire the heavens?" He sighs. 

"Thinking, perhaps, your interests I have forgotten, hmm?" Yoda goads from the top of the weedy backdune, his dark silhouette resembling a particularly thorny bush. "Wrong! Caring about stars and planets, you are not."

"There are other spots to occupy here, you know." 

But of course, requesting solitude is of no use, because the old man is already hobbling down the slope. A lecture is coming with him, Luke knows. Whether he wants to endure it or not is inconsequential. 

"At the easternmost shore site is where you should be, come morning. Patience, insight, and _joy_ you may regain there, young Skywalker." 

 _Note to self: avoid the easternmost shore site_ _tomorrow_ _,_ he thinks before asking, "Is that where you've _divined_ a pair of plovers will settle?" 

"Divination has nothing to do with it!" 

Luke winces as the geezer prods him in the ribs with his damned walking stick. At least in the daylight hours he can avoid this particular annoyance by sight.  

"Are you ever going to stop doing _that_?" He growls, taking a few steps backward.  

"The physical, I have found, is often the only teacher that enlightens you." Yoda chides, turning his round, craggy face skyward. "If not for the fragile beauty of the field work, then for a new generation of students, you must return. Too long you have been away from academia!" 

Luke hears the whistling trajectory of the staff this time – narrowly dodging its swinging arc above his head.  

"Too long you have allowed your own sorrow to affect the minds of others. Remembering and loving Mara _yes_ , this is important, but grief is a burden you must _decide_ to shed now, for a waste of space you have become!” 

Luke exhales and sidesteps around the four feet of fuming Yoda, beginning to grind into the sandy climb.  

He wishes everything wasn’t so soft and giving here. There’s no rickety door to slam; no stones to hurl into the surf. 

“Fixing picnic tables, clearing trails, cleaning up after inconsiderate visitors…” Yoda _tsks_. “Humble, worthy tasks yes, but not for you, Luke Skywalker!” 

"Okay, okay, _okay_ ,” Luke blurts, hoping a momentary agreement will save his ankles and eardrums from another flanking attack. "I'll talk with the plover people tomorrow! Now _good_ _night_. I hope you enjoy your well-earned peace and quiet, Dr.” 

When Yoda _hrumphs_ loudly and doesn’t shuffle to pursue him, Luke knows he’s been wholly unconvincing. Rude even, if he chooses to ignore the literal and figurative brow beating he just received. 

He pauses as he reaches the sandy summit, puffing a little more loudly than he likes, and yells over a shoulder, “Still bacon and toast in the morning, or have you finally listened to some of  _my_ advice?” 

“When my age you be, eat and drink whatever you want, you will too!” 

“I seem to remember you eating the exact same thing twenty years ago...” Luke rolls his eyes, already preparing the grocery list in his mind. 

A breeze merges with the lake noises, nearly masking the whispering sound of trickling sand, as Yoda starts to climb.  

It is their way, Luke knows: to bicker, grudgingly listen, and then mock one another in the immediate aftermath. Nothing ever changes, somehow, no matter how many years have faded away between them.  

And although there’s an ache in his side and the hermit’s words still prickle, Luke wonders and hopes again… 

Maybe his former advisor will stick around a bit longer this summer, Piping plovers or not. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the support and reviews so far. This lovely little community has been incredibly welcoming!

She lifts the front tire of her bicycle, rolling it onto the gate of Mr. Skywalker's pickup truck. His fingers avoid her own as he reaches down to grasp the handle bars, heaving harder than necessary and staggering back a bit. The featherlight weight of her BB8 surprised her as well, the first time she maneuvered it.  

“I really can’t thank you enough.” Rey repeats, overwhelmed by the urge to jump up into the Ford and help. 

Her mind is still trying to come up with a way to pay him back for the free, unsolicited ride. His mid-morning presence at the petrol station where the bus dropped her off seems to have been a happy coincidence. (Though that quaking part of her conscience that _needs_ to be suppressed wishes it wasn't.)  

One minute she was wrestling her bike down from the Greyhound’s front rack, and in the next he was behind her, taking her suitcase in hand as if it were the most natural thing. 

"No worries. I'm glad I was here to help.” Mr. Skywalker insists now, swinging her bike around. “Are the two bags really all you brought?"  

"Should I have packed more?" Rey laughs. She was afraid she had packed too much.  

"No, not necessarily..."  

He gently lowers her rusting, prized possession onto the truck bed. Second-guessing something, he huffs and lifts it again.  

Rey decides that this is what an American man should look like, as she traces his industrious outline against the cerulean sky. Somehow, he’s both rooted and windswept, like a tree that has had the chance to wander and battle storms in its youth.  

"But it's strange... for a _woman_ , you mean." She probes, watching him debate how to safely transport her second-hand bike. The longer he struggles, the guiltier she feels. "Oh, please don’t worry, it's fine like that. You can't possibly damage it anymore." 

“Probably not,” he agrees, lips quirking, finally laying the frame flat. "And as far as luggage goes, you've packed light by anyone's standards. I loaded up half this truck when I first moved into the park." 

It pleases Rey that she's misread him, even if it's only a minor point. She's grown tired of being quantified by the bare definitions of her existence and past; of being judged by the things she cannot change.  

 _Orphan, woman, criminal._  

They both climb into the cab and she tucks her backpack between her legs. "How long have you lived there?" 

"Too long," he chuckles, putting the truck into gear with an intriguing dash lever. 

Rey likes the sound of his amusement, even if it is a bit rueful, and finds she can't help mimicking his insight from a few weeks ago.  

"That bad, hmm? Is there still time for me to back out of this deal?" 

It has taken less than a minute to pass all of Polis Massan – a roadside town that is more like an emergency stop than an intended destination – and they are rumbling beneath the expressway that connects the remote place with the rest of humanity.  

Mr. Skywalker glances in the rearview mirror, his crinkled gaze partially masked behind drugstore wayfarers. "Well, considering southbound buses only roll through here about once a week, you're stuck with us for at least that long, Rey." 

"No complaints then. I’m officially stuck in paradise," she announces, powering off her cellphone while watching houses and mailboxes fade out of existence.  

Trees soldier on through intermittent farmlands, slowly regrouping into dense armies of forest. The sheer amount of _green_ is staggeringly beautiful. Glinting moments of lakeview begin to replace civilization entirely, and then they are finally passing the entry sign to her temporary home. 

WELCOME TO ENDOR STATE PARK 

Rey has no sense of captivity whatsoever. The world is full of fresh, open potential. For the first time in a long time, she feels free. 

* * *

She peers through her small (now see-through) window every time she stands up to stretch, marveling again and again at her change in scenery.  

Her city apartment overlooked the dumpsters behind a fast food restaurant; her new cabin view is a sweeping, dune-lined vista, flecked with creeping bushes and stiff tufts of grass. She will learn to identify all of it before the summer ends. At least, Rey hopes she will. She really is quite out of her depth and sphere of interest, when it comes to plants.   

It's a tease, not an actual view of Lake Michigan, but if she forces her mind to _believe_ that the clear, stretching sky is water, then the illusion is nearly just as pleasing. Either way she looks at it, the sand is undeniably welcoming and sun-kissed and within reach. She has promised herself that a walk out there will be her reward, once she's finished inside. 

Scrubbing floors and walls has never been quite so enjoyable; so rewardingly therapeutic. With the liberating power she has grasped onto, in this musty little cabin, she has managed to clean her way through the entire afternoon.  

Rey draws the back of a wrist across her sticky brow and assesses the disinfected space. The log-stacked walls are more defined now – even shiny with century-old varnish, in some places. Any improvement would have been better than cobwebs, dead insects, and a millimeter of dust, but she finds herself overwhelmingly pleased with her efforts.  

 _It's actually presentable_ , she thinks, recalling the grey-tinged images of a faraway dwelling from her youth: a place she was ashamed to occupy, but not for its rundown appearance.  

"Hey, Rey! You in there?” 

Boots clomp outside, heavy on her porch steps, and then a beaming teen is peaking through the open door like it’s the first day they met. 

"Hi, Finn! It’s very nice to see you again.”

“Hey, the feeling is completely mutual. Thanks to you, I'm going to be breathing a lot easier during office meetings this summer. Boss told you about the guy who lived here before, right?” 

Finn’s brows are mile-high, and she can tell he wants to elaborate, so she feigns ignorance and lets him rant while she continues to scrub. By the time he’s done detailing some of the more ridiculous of her predecessor’s accomplishments last summer ( _how_ _stoned_ _must you_ _truly_ _be, to pass out naked on a public beach?_ ) she's satisfied that her bunk bed is clean enough to sleep in. 

“Well, besides my lack of amusing and questionable, habits," she says warmly, "I hope I haven’t disappointed you by taking the job... You know, considering my credentials?” 

“No worries,” he grins, shaking his head and looking around, “Unless you plan on repainting this place green and white? You aren’t going to paint this place green and white, are you?” 

She tosses the scrub brush into a pail of blackened water and runs a clean rag over her face. 

“I promise to keep my MSU, green-and-white decorating inside. Because, you know, I’d hate to upset your delicate, fanboy constitution by painting my cabin a color you already see around here, _all_ _summer_ _long_." 

They end up laughing together, even though Rey tries her hardest to stay serious. A bit of her fractured, misaligned world feels balanced again. Because she knows, without further conversation, that Finn is the kind of person she can be sarcastic and playful with. He won’t judge her or twist her words around until they’re no longer well-intended.  

He won’t saddle her with nonexistent problems either, or turn conversations into a chess match of shame and bitterness...

“Well after _that_ , maybe I shouldn’t offer?" Finn huffs fondly, "But I actually did come by to see if you needed a lift into town, to pick up groceries or anything? You know you can use the staff fridge in the main office, right?” 

“Yes, Mr. Skywalker did mention that.” Rey chews her bottom lip, sobering from the embarrassment she now harbors. “Thank you for asking, but I already purchased a few things this afternoon.” 

“You sure?” Finn is all genuine concern, cocking his head, and Rey can only hope he doesn’t take a better look around her room – that he doesn’t notice a missing bag of groceries.  

"For today, I’m great. But thank you. Will I see you in the morning then?" She tries not to sound too eager or nervous. The intrigue of her first working day looms large now, and she desperately wishes to do well.  

 _To_ _impress_ _Luke._ The thought surfaces in a flash, before she can quickly amend _,_ _To_ _work on my_ _public speaking, to_ _learn_ _the local_ _ecology, and_ _then,_ _yes_ _,_ _to_ _also_ _impress my boss_ _._ _Because_ _,_ _job_ _performance is important, in any field._  

“Yeah, I'm here at six tomorrow," Finn groans magnificently, "And really, it's no problem if you change your mind about tonight. I'm done at five." 

He strides out of her new home and across the beige campsite.  

When he turns back to pump her a mock-salute, she realizes she is waving a bit more enthusiastically than she probably should, considering she's known him for all of what, twenty minutes?  

But for the millionth time today, she's just too happy to really care about the details.  

The only real damper is remembering that the non-perishable foodstuffs she has packed need to last two weeks. She’s endured paycheck-fasts before (university is the best teacher when it comes to living on oatmeal and pasta for long periods of time) but the current financial inconvenience is nothing compared to the luxury of _peace_. 

For a long moment she simply stands on her porch and listens to the soft rustle of pine needles shifting overhead. Long shadows creep out into the sandy clearing, shading the communal fire pit the four cabins share.  

Rey turns back into her new home and sighs with a contentment that stretches bone-deep. She snatches up her jacket, canteen, and the hippy’s wildflower guide before pulling her hair into a new bun.  

As she toggles the padlock into place outside her door, an aching, desperate need rises out of nowhere. But of course, it isn't from nowhere. It's the ghost of Ben, still chasing her from a distance.  

Eyes closed she breathes out slowly, forcing the impulse to pass. 

 _He won’t – can’t – find you here_ _._ _You’re safe._ _You don’t need it._  

Many well-deserved minutes later, she finds that wandering the beach dunes feels all the more magical, without the weight of a stun gun in her pocket.

* * *

There was a time in his life when he could have managed a large piece of furniture all by himself, but that period is waning.  

Luke dislikes the realization almost as much as he dislikes the silent, unassuming presence of Chewie in the passenger seat beside him. Not because he dislikes the man himself – far from it, actually – but because his old friend and head groundskeeper seems to _know_.  

 _Worse than Yoda with a migratory hunch,_ he thinks, tightening his hands on the steering wheel.  

It has been slow going, but they’ve almost bumped their way to the end of the pitted, grassy drive that connects the furthest rentable cabin to the rest of the park's camping lots. Perhaps, Luke tells himself, the agonizingly slow pace is the reason he’s being a bit defensive.  

"Don't say it." He warns, which is a poor choice of words, all things considered. 

He can feel Chewie's knowing gaze on him, narrowed eyes probably saying something like, _"You can be a real asshole, sometimes. You know that, right?"_  

Luke exhales, wishing it wasn't so damned difficult to elaborate the next part. A four-mile foray into the most remote stretch of the park is admittedly out of character, and even without the years of understanding between he and Chewie, the taller man would certainly be wondering _why,_ regardless. 

But somehow, it's like Chewie's already guessed his intent. It's both riling and comforting, to know another person still understands this much about him – that he's incapable of _not_ helping, when a need becomes apparent.   

Admitting there may also be ulterior, less chivalrous reasons is another matter.  

"You haven't been inside that cabin since Quigon cleared out last year. Don't ask me how, but he took both the dressers – the original, hardwood ones that weigh a ton. I'm still trying to figure out how that old hippy did it, but besides that, who steals _dressers?"_ Luke takes a breath and tries for stoicism instead, like he’s just a park manager telling his employee to complete a task. "Nobody should have to live out of a suitcase all summer. And I've been meaning to clear some furniture out of this place anyway." 

It's of no use, Luke knows. His rambling justifications have failed, even on himself. Chewie turns away to look out his window, seeming entirely pleased with all six feet, eleven inches of himself.  

 _If silence could_   _gloat_...  

"Why don't you ever take me seriously?" Luke sighs. 

Silence reigns, as he finally parks his F-150 at the end of the dense drive and steps outside. He can see the roof of the four-person sleeper cabin several yards ahead, though it's only accessible by following a single-file, dirt path now.  

"Ya ere-bah _eye-er_ ," Chewie groans, scoffing at Luke overtop the truck cab.  

The man's piercing blue eyes have always held more meaning than his broken speech, and like a parent understanding their child's first mumbled, stunted words when others can't, Luke knows how to read his deaf friend. Sometimes signing is required, but more often than not, it's all expressions and tone.  

"I'm not a _horrible liar_." He grumbles, pushing a vibrant branch aside before it can smack him in the face.  

He tries his hardest not to stalk down the trail, which proves significantly easier on the way back, after they have finally maneuvered the dresser out of the cabin. He thought that driving had been meticulous, slow-going but then their team effort begins and it's like carrying a two-hundred-pound coffin.  

Chewie takes the brunt of the load, to Luke's inordinate relief. His long, trunk-like limbs have never been deterred by manual labor, whether it involves repositioning all of the campground's picnic tables, moving wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow of gravel, or stacking cords of firewood. If Chewie was ever so inclined, Luke believes the wild, unkempt man could literally lift mountains.  

The truck sags a few inches, when Luke manages to shoulder his end of the dresser onto the gate. Chewie slides the creaking, protesting antique fully onto the plastic bed, with a groan of his own which sounds more effort than vocabulary, and then swings the gate up. 

"Thanks, pal." Luke pants, deciding with guilty resignation that he _needs_ to start exercising again. The occasional bike ride out to the point isn't cutting it anymore. He vows that his reason's for improving are purely health-related. "If I survive the rest of this, dinner's on me tonight." 

Chewie raises a bushy brow, looking down his wide, substantial nose.   

"Okay, and a six pack."  

Tangled, shoulder-length hair rustles from side to side, as Chewie stares at his employer with all the persuasive intensity of a hungry bear. 

"And a dozen campstore donuts in the morning." Luke sighs with finality, wondering how he has once again acquiesced to a man who never argues out loud.  

They shake on it, Chewie a bit more forcefully than seems necessary, and then there only remains the prospect of transporting the dresser to its new and permanent residence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *So, I made Qui-Gon Jinn into a hippy. It just, kind of happened?? And I think it's a bit too funny, imagining him staggering around a beach naked. 
> 
> *I always envisioned Chewie being present here but struggled with creating his dialogue. In the end, turning him into a deaf character felt right for a number of reasons - mainly, because I've known a few hearing-impaired individuals and badly wanted to represent them in my writing. 
> 
> *And last but most importantly, Rey and Luke have both admitted their mutual attractions! (in their own internal ways) Summer hasn't even started and things are already heating up, people. ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! I must admit, I just realized the progression of this story has started to line up with real life. We find ourselves in May, just like Rey and Luke - at the beginning of their long spring/summer in the great outdoors. I'm kind of in love with the idea that they are truly up there, in the middle of the wilderness, trying to figure themselves out while also learning more about each other around a campfire... Anyway, enjoy loves! And May The Fourth Be With You, always. :)

She cups the underside of the flower, tilting its face towards the dwindling daylight. Petals merge and curl outward, forming a delicate, star-shaped teacup. It matches the picture of the periwinkle bloom from the field guide, and Rey feels another jolt of undeserved accomplishment.  

 _Bluebell bellflower_ _,_ she reads with bemused wonder, _just li_ _ke he marked._  

The dog-eared book she holds has proved far more informative than anticipated. Within the front jacket, her herbal-loving predecessor has taped a fold-out map of Endor State Park _,_ complete with x's, notes, and an attached, color-coded key that lists at least twenty different wildflower species. It feels more like a treasure map, than a guide to northern Michigan plant life.  

Rey has wandered along the grass-anchored heft of a lakeshore backdune, trekking down into the wetter trough habitat anytime she spotted a flash of color from above. Learning via experience has always been her preference, and reading the stuffy paragraphs of information while crouched overtop a real-life specimen is far more enjoyable than classroom lectures. 

Flame-orange Butterfly weeds, yellow Lake Huron tansies and Hairy puccoons, and now the delicate beauty of Bluebells – each and every wildflower species has appeared where marked on the map. It almost feels like she's cheating somehow, by using the unexpected gift, even as she keeps reminding herself that Mr. Skywalker has encouraged her to do this very thing.  

 _"You'll be largely responsible for yourself out here, which can be an adjustment, I know. Your regional coordinator will check in and train with you_ _at least once a week_ _, but for the most part you're expected to spend your working hours learning about the park and its ecology. It's really that simple: explore, take notes, do a little research, create interesting programs for the visitors, and then present them."_  

Rey gently releases the Bluebell's corolla and rises to assess the deepening sky. At some point, time and space have drastically shifted away from her, which isn't abnormal (she loses herself in her studies all the time) but it's still a bit surprising, considering its only her first day here.  

A few stars are sprinkled along the eastern horizon, peaking between dips in the darkening tree line; the west is tinged ochre, having completely transformed from the blue, illusionary lake she contemplated earlier in the day.  

She climbs the dune and turns towards the water. Sinking down onto the sand and pulling her jacket tighter around her against the growing chill, Rey watches the sky blush coral before slowly fading into a deep, stretching purple. The landscape seems to yawn, shadows creeping across the beach like translucent vegetation, and then the lake finally takes hold of the sun and tugs.  

She wonders how it would feel to watch such a brilliant, changing display with someone at her side. Not in a casual, accidental sort of way, though. Not like it was just another everyday sight on the way to something else _,_ as has happened so often in her past. Rather, she wonders what it might feel like to make this a singular, intended moment. 

 _Add it to the summer_ _bucket list_ , she decides, forcing herself to not think about the ideal _who_ involved in such a scenario because that way leads, irrevocably, to the darker alternative she’s fighting to forget; the ying and yang comparison built into all things.  

Only when the last, bright curve of sunlight has slipped into the waves of Lake Michigan, does Rey start walking back to camp.

* * *

“More butter and salt, these need.” 

Luke tongs another pork chop onto Chewie’s plate before moving the container of condiments and seasonings further down the picnic table.   

“Help yourself,” he says to Yoda, evaluating the gathering darkness.  

He realizes the camp grill is now glowing in the gloom. The bonfire as well. Flipping meat for the last thirty minutes has distracted him from the night’s progression.    

“Worry not for your new employee. Eat and rest after a day of hard labor, you should.” Yoda mumbles around a mouthful of potatoes. 

Chewie grunts in agreement, as if he’s part and parcel to the old man’s vague presumptions. The two have hardly spoken since sitting down for dinner but are already in collusion, clinking beer bottles like they have something to celebrate.   

Luke wonders at that sight again, before turning back to the charcoal grill.  

Two foil packets steam beside a pair of well-done chops. Any longer under a flame, and the thick cuts of meat will be tougher than the mattress pads in some of the cabins, but Luke wants to keep them warm. _It_ _’s polite to_ _wai_ _t,_ he reasons. His ravenous counterparts may have forgone any semblance of manners but he still recognizes the distant, if admittedly rusty, impulse within himself. 

 _But y_ _ou never asked, so who’s to say she didn’t go elsewhere for dinner?_  

There’s only one reasonable alternative, because Luke has been in and out of the office kitchen to grab extra dinnerware tonight and hasn’t crossed paths with anyone – and because Rey's door has been locked since they got back with the dresser.  

 _Finn is a better dinner companion_ _anyway_ _._ He decides not to think about what a late evening with the charming high schooler might involve, considering it’s almost nine.  

“More suitable nesting habitat, the students and I cleared today.” Yoda announces, straining an arm across the table. Luke pushes the meat plate towards him before rising. “Not long now, until a pair arrives, I believe.” 

“I wish you wouldn’t do that.”  

“Hungry, I am! Deny an elderly person protein, you would?” Yoda balks, stabbing the last pork chop as if it might actually be pulled away from him. 

Luke takes a breath, already tired of the debate ahead. “You _know_ what I mean. The bay shore is undisturbed habitat, under natural progression. You and the others should leave the vegetation alone.” 

“Creating false environs, we are not. Reinstating the natural order, we are. Know this you would, if ever you visited.” 

“Dr. Holdo showed me pictures of what you’ve been encouraging the students to do and it looks like you took a machete to some of the bush line. She agrees with me. It’s too disruptive.” 

“Yes, yes. Some convincing it will take, for the older and supposedly wiser. Only the interns, it seems, understand the importance of encouragement. A helping hand, some creatures require, if ever they are to thrive again." 

Luke shakes his head in the darkness, ignoring the all-to-obvious implication. He shovels coals out of the open grill, watching the ashen bricks flare and settle between logs as he spreads them over the bonfire.  

“I’m sorry, but it’s hard for me to believe you check every plant or animal species in an area before you start weed-whacking.”  

No matter how unlikely it is that Yoda may damage some portion of critical habitat on the rocky beach, at the end of the day, Luke is the park’s closest approximation to a paid, environmental ambassador.   

 _Well, maybe not anymore,_ he amends, recalling the bright, captivating discourse of his newest employee. He can't remember the last time he encountered a student so immersed in their field of study. So alive with eagerness and obvious potential. 

 _Of course you can_ , a flare of guilty pain reminds him. _Mara was like that too, in the early years._  

When the silence has stretched on with only the sounds of spring peepers and the lake between them, Luke finally turns back to the picnic table. Somehow, Yoda is polishing off his third Leinenkugel and seems uninterested in offering any sort of rebuttal.  

“Please tell me you’re at least _looking_ at the plants you cut down?” 

“So little regard you now hold for my judgement." Yoda stands ponderously, reaching for his walking stick. "When last in the field you were, quite the opposite it was. Only when you see with your _own_ eyes, will your opinion on this issue again matter.” 

“Plenty of research is conducted off-site,” Luke begins, wanting at the very least to convince his stubborn mentor to transplant native flora to another part of the shoreline– 

But then a halo of light is bobbing between the trees. Past the cabins, out on the beach. Just one beam – one person. 

 _Not with the kid_ _then_ _after all?_ He considers. Something like relief skims along his periphery.  

“Finish your thought, young Skywalker.” Yoda prompts, either engaged in the argument again or oblivious to a person approaching from the dunes. Neither seems likely. 

“Just, check the plants.” Luke spikes the shovel into the sand. "And if relocation seems like too much work, maybe it's best to leave the area alone?"  

"Always with the talking now," Yoda grumbles, hobbling towards the bonfire. "Never with the doing.” 

"Can we please put our personal agendas on hold tonight? You can harass me again, come morning." 

Luke is sure it's Rey now, as he tracks the slim figure weaving between pine trees. The corona of flashlight illumination finally reveals her hiking boots, as she comes around the side of Yoda’s shadowy cabin.  

"Yes, yes." Yoda eases onto a stump. "Behave I will, since detecting the arrival of a more open-minded environmentalist, I now am." 

Rey walks fully into the warm firelight and pauses in front of her cabin. She seems surprised by something for a long moment. Most likely, it's the huge piece of furniture that's been left on her doorstep… which, now that Luke thinks about it critically, looks a hell of a lot weirder than he ever intended. 

“Are you hungry?” He calls as she starts to climb the steps, immediately wishing he could drown for all the hope in his voice. It doesn’t help that Yoda is humming some nondescript tune. 

“That’s very kind, but I would hate to intrude...” 

“Not at all, we do this every night. And as our newest neighbor, you have a standing invitation.” He tries to ignore the questioning glances of his regular companions. 

She turns fully towards them then and the smile is there. Not indulgent or forced, just _real_ and radiant. And even though she always seems to be generous with it, Luke wants to imagine the gesture is somewhat personal.

“Well, yes..." Rey admits carefully, still not moving from her bottom step. "I'm Famished, actually... But I feel like such an imposition." 

"Nonsense, we've got plenty leftover," he waves as casually as possible, moving back to the grill.  

It's another long moment before he hears her picking across the span of sandy campsite. He focuses only on getting food onto paper plates as she nears, but then Chewie is moving behind him.  

He glances back, catching the man's eye. A sideways, half-spoken, half-signed understanding moves between them, because this kind of thing has happened before. Chewie drains the last of a beer in two long gulps, and Luke feels all of the man's sudden resignation as if it's his own to bear. 

 _"Just let me leave._ _I don't feel like being pitied or explained tonight."_  

Rey slides onto the picnic bench just as the towering man manages to extricate his long limbs, and Chewie looks pointedly between her and her cabin.  

"Uh, sorry," Luke manages, while putting a plate in front of a clearly confused and slightly uncomfortable Rey. "We meant to move that dresser into your place this afternoon but thought it would be better to wait until you got back. Could Chewie borrow your key for a minute? The copy's buried in my office, somewhere."  

"Oh, that's too nice! You didn't have to do that!" She protests warmly, hurrying to dig in her backpack. "And you've been waiting, haven't you? I'm so sorry. Time just got away from me..." 

"We've been meaning to do it anyway." Luke insists, staring Chewie's raised eyebrow down with two of his own. When she comes back up with the key he adds, "And Rey, this is Chewie. He's the head groundskeeper. Chewie, this is Rey, our new explorer guide." 

The two exchange an almost comical handshake, as Rey beams up at the grizzled man with all the unmasked joy of a child meeting a professional athlete for the first time.   

Looking towards the campfire, Luke's mildly relieved to find Yoda asleep on his stump – at least, it appears that's what he _wants_ them to believe. _Another reason that_ _particular_ _introduction can't be delayed long enough._ Young students, no matter how competent, are always at least a little spellbound, when they first meet the experienced, seemingly all-knowing wonder that is Dr. Yoda. 

But thankfully, Rey is wholly intent on Chewie, as he hears her say, “Thank you so much for taking the time to help. I'm truly grateful.” 

 _And here it is,_ Luke takes a breath. Another transition moment. Even though it isn't his own explanation to give, he still feels some of Chewie's certain anxiety: _how will this new person react to a hearing impairment?_   

But as Chewie grunts and nods an affirmative to Rey's gratitude – seeming intent on escaping the interaction by turning to complete the furniture move – something surprising happens.  

Rey reaches out to touch his arm, making him pause. Her hands rotate in front of her chest, fingers pinching and curling and drawing figures in the air. 

 _“Very thought and kind.”_ She signs, _“Extra space good.”_  

“Well that wasn’t on your resume...”  

Luke can't help gaping, catching the same wide-eyed appreciation in Chewie’s gaze – who has, by the way, sat down again and is signing quicker than usual. 

“I lived with a deaf girl for a few years when I was younger." Rey explains, grinning while also signing slowly. "Lucky for you, she loved this American crime program with a deaf actress, so she decided to learn ASL. And then, when she was good at it, she taught me too and it sort of became this fun, 'secret' language between the two of us – her caretaker only knew BSL, you see.”   

Chewie mumbles a bit, lips curving into the closest smile Luke has seen from him in some time, while Rey laughs. 

“Yes, I'm a bit out of practice. Please feel free to correct whatever ridiculous things I say."  

The conversation progresses rapidly then, becoming a one-sided, verbal monologue about the show she's mentioned. Luke hurries to put a pork chop on his own plate so he can watch.  

"Ah, like this?" Rey asks, mimicking Chewie's movements. She's a fast learner, replicating several signs on the first try. With practice, her emphasis and pacing could easily improve.  

Her smile and gestures fade somewhat though, as Luke settles down next to Chewie. Her attention falls to her own plate, sadness flitting across her expression as she bites her lip. For a second, Luke's afraid he's ruined the nostalgic moment by interrupting. 

"You've both made me feel quite at home here..." She rolls a fork between her fingers. "I don't know how to thank you enough."  

The bonfire crackles behind them all, the softer night-noises trickling in to fill the quiet void. Yoda, for all his dramatic intrigue, has the gall to _snore_ like he's on his last, dying breath.  

To understand a person fully, Luke has often found, is to see how they react to kindness. And with the difficult, bullet-pointed life of this woman in the back of his mind, her reactions are all the more remarkable. Choosing to offer light and gratitude, after experiencing extreme hardship, is incredibly rare. 

"The park's lucky to have you, Rey." He says finally, in his most genial boss-voice. Sawing at his blackened pork chop, he nods at Chewie and adds, "And you can thank us by eating with us – this guy, for all his sparkling personality, needs somebody else to talk to besides me." 

Chewie shoulders him with an offended moan, but Luke's prepared, only rocking about a foot off center.   

"Well, I can't object to that." Rey glances shyly between the two of them, before stabbing a chunk of potato.  

Above them, the hard points of starlight rotate with the passage of night, becoming all the clearer as the bonfire fades to half its former intensity. It is only when Luke rises from the picnic table, taking empty plates and several more beer bottles with him, that he realizes an hour has passed in easy conversation – mostly between Chewie and Rey.  

Watching his closest friend find common, mechanical ground with someone who seems to be his equal in automotive appreciation – and also in rudimentary sign language – has been strange and amusing and entirely unexpected. Rey doesn't seem quite real, if he's being honest.  

"It's settled," he says loudly, interrupting Chewie's nonstop sign-athon, if only because there is such a thing as overwhelming a new acquaintance with talk – even if Rey's enthusiasm hasn't cracked once. "You're officially taking my place at campfire dinners." 

"Impossible!" she protests, "I'm rubbish when it comes to cooking. I'd probably poison you both – _this_ was lovely, by the way." 

 _"I'd take my chances."_ Chewie sign-shrugs.  

"Well thanks, Rey, but it's two against one," Luke says with mock-resignation. "Which at least means I have a respectable excuse to hit the hay now." 

He dumps the trash, knots the bag, and then looks up and remembers. 

"Shoot, Chewie, we've still got to get that thing off her porch."  

"Oh really, it can wait!" Rey says, hurrying to stand.  

But Chewie's already snatched up her key and is groaning in agreement. For all his admirable work ethic, the man doesn't normally get to a task _quite_ so fast. Luke joins him, with Rey in tow, and it's only now that he notices Yoda's quiet absence.  

 _How did_ _that old windbag_ _sneak back to his cabin_ _again_ _?_ Someday, he'll pay closer attention and figure out the disappearing/reappearing act.  

They heave the awkward bulk of furniture into Rey's cabin and Luke tugs on the single, hanging bulb in the process.  

"Wow, did you take a hose to this place or what?" 

"Nearly. I think I may have been the first person to dust in a century?" 

"No kidding," Luke grunts, setting his end of the dresser down against an open wall. "Is it alright here?" 

"Yes, perfect. Again, thank you so much. You both are too kind." 

Chewie signs, _"You're welcome. Goodnight."_ (Which is another strange anomaly), before ducking through the doorway and back into darkness.  

Even though the giant has left, the room suddenly feels ten times smaller.  

Luke pats the top of the dresser, feeling a little guilty at the dust cloud that plumes off it. The rest of his stomach twists with an undefinable awkwardness. 

"Alright, well I'll leave you to it then."  

"Oh wait, I almost forgot!” Rey exclaims, swinging her backpack off her shoulders and digging again. She quickly flicks open a tattered field guide. "I meant to ask, have you ever been here?" 

She extends the page in front of him, her finger resting on a heavily-annotated map of the park. _Ah,_ _Quigon_ _,_ he thinks, remembering the compact, all-caps writing.  

"Because, from what I understand here,” she continues, “this area should mostly be in bloom, in the next few weeks. Everything else he's written about the beach flowers was correct." 

Luke glances up, chuckling. "I thought you weren't all that interested in botany?" 

"Well, no," she admits, tapping the map, "But he claims over fifteen different species of wildflower occupy just this one little clearing – and that it becomes a kind of a monarch sanctuary throughout the summer." 

A memory flickers to the forefront of Luke’s mind –  

 _Thousands of fluttering, orange and black wings. Slanting daylight, spearing through gaps in the tree canopy. Mara panning_   _her camera up, tracking the swirling mass. Snap, snap, snap. Her_ _sly,_ _wonderous_ _grin_. _How the sight of her alone was more stunning than the butterfly migration._  

"It is okay, if I travel this far into the park, right?" Rey asks tentatively, and Luke realizes her hazel gaze is flicking all over his own. He tries to wipe away the lingering memory with humor. 

"Sure, as long as you take a walkie talkie. Personally, I don't remember seeing a clearing there though, so it's entirely possible the expert map you're holding is little more than a memory-jogger for an old stoner who decided to get experimental by growing on state-owned land – in which case, please tell me if you find any extracurricular plant life? It'll be a pain in the ass to report and deal with, but worse things have happened out here."  

"Of course, yes. Definitely. Though, I'm not entirely sure what to look for in that department?" She brightens to near phosphorescence again, her lips curving into a mischievous expression which feels entirely beyond him. "But I'll certainly take pictures of anything that smells suspect." 

He nods, giving her a small smile. "Alright, sounds good. I'll see you tomorrow morning then.” 

Before he can give into the impulse to ask her anything more about the strange little map, he makes himself leave.  

Darkness and wood smoke overwhelm him for a moment, as he snuffs out the lingering embers of the bonfire with a shovel-full of sand. The empty, hushed campsite makes the depths of his contemplative mood stretch all the wider, allowing impossible thoughts to wander in without much protest. Irrationality is harder to chase away, he has learned, in the mysterious transition between dusk and dawn. So are the real, lived-in memories. 

Luke wonders at the true measure of these thoughts, and the summer ahead, before giving one last look at the well-lit cabin and making his way back to his own little home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Corolla is the term for all of the petals which make up a flower.
> 
> *Spring peeper frogs (Pseudacris crucifer) are the heralds of springtime for many in the North America. Their high-pitched calls sound a bit like sleigh bells, when a group masses together to sing at night.
> 
> *Monarch butterflies are common in eastern North America and are renowned for their spectacular fall migration south (throughout Mexico). Their corresponding multi-generational return north in the spring is just as amazing. More on these beauties later.
> 
> *The wildflowers Rey sees in this chapter are all native and found along the shores of Michigan's northern lower peninsula. In future chapters, I will also strive to keep species sightings as accurate and seasonally appropriate as possible.


End file.
